


Into the Sea of Waking Dreams

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ghost Peter - Freeform, M/M, Mates, Peter haunts Stiles instead of Lydia, Resurrection, Season 2 AU, Suicidal Ideation, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: "Nothing is happening to me," Stiles says slowly."You've been acting weird," Derek says.I'm being haunted by my dead mate, Stiles wants to say, but he swears he can hear Peter humming. If it's not real, he doesn't want to know.(S2 AU in which Peter haunts Stiles instead of Lydia.)





	Into the Sea of Waking Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me forever to write this fic. I've wanted to write it for YEARS.
> 
> I listened to Sarah McLachlan almost nonstop while writing this, especially Possession (duh), Fear, and Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. 
> 
> I had a lot of cheerleaders, especially the Steter Network. Twisted_Mind helped a lot for the end, and Majoline beta read.

Stiles does his best to stay away from hospitals. Bad memories all around, really. So his first thought when he wakes to the tell-tale beeping of a heart monitor is, 'Fuck, I hate this place.' But then he realizes that the beeping is so much louder than it should be, as is the background noise of hospital staff and patients beyond the door to his room. It's loud, it's all too loud, and the _smell_ is so strong it burns his nose and stings his eyes. It's sickness and blood and urine and feces, none of it in any way covered by sharp citrus disinfectant. Stiles moves to cover his nose, the IV tube tugging at the back of his hand when he does. He groans and wonders what the hell happened to him.

He doesn't remember. It's all fuzzy. 

At least he doesn't hurt. 

"Stiles," his dad says.

He blinks his eyes open again and then he notices his father is sitting near his bed, his face a mix of relief and concern. It's mostly relief, though. And now that Stiles is concentrating, he can smell his dad, too - his sweat smells old, like he's not showered in days, and his breath is sour with too-strong coffee and cool ranch Doritos. He looks like crap, really, but his heart is beating strongly, only a little bit faster than it should.

Stiles can _hear his father's heartbeat_.

Fuck.

His dad's frown deepens and Stiles realizes he hasn't said anything yet.

"Hey," he tries, and that's a croak. Thankfully, his dad seems to understand and he is up and pouring water from a plastic pitcher into a plastic cup before Stiles can think to ask.

"Small sips," his father says, and Stiles nods and does as he says even though he wants to gulp the entire pitcher down and ask for more.

"How long have I been out?" Stiles asks, but of course there's one of those tear-away calendars on the wall so he notices that and knows the answer before his dad responds.

"Three days."

Stiles nods, thoughts pinging around his mind as he tries to put it all together. 

Super hearing and sense of smell and the feeling that he's missing something or _someone_...

(Actually, there's a piece of him that's missing, a hole inside that aches as if that piece had been ripped and torn out of him with claws, and he wants to _cry_ from it except he's too afraid to admit how badly it hurts him.)

"I don't remember what happened," Stiles says truthfully. "I was at the dance with Lydia…" He trails off, frustrated, but the closest thing to a memory he has is a half-forgotten fever dream of teeth and heat and bone-deep belonging.

When he closes his eyes, he can see Peter looking back at him, but it doesn't make him panic and it _should_.

"Where was I found?" Stiles asks, hoping the location will jar his memory.

But when Stiles looks for the answer, he sees his father shaking his head. "Someone brought you into the ER and didn't stick around to explain himself."

"Who?" Stiles asks around the lump in his throat.

"Hale," his dad grunts.

Stiles can hear his own heartbeat pick up, his mind jumping back to Peter, and then there's a pleasant throb of pain (since when is pain pleasant?) at his wrist and Stiles flips his hand over to look.

He's expecting to see smooth skin, because he's about 99.9% sure he's a werewolf now. If not that, then maybe an ugly wound. He doesn't even know what to think about the perfect silver scar that now graces the delicate skin of his wrist. Bites don't scar on werewolves, right? So what the hell is this, then?

"Peter…" Stiles murmurs, and again there's the pleasing warmth of remembrance at the site of his scar.

His father's scent goes sharp and interested. "Peter Hale? The missing patient from the long-term ward?"

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but the words clog his throat so he just flails a bit.

His dad says, "I meant Derek Hale, son. He's the one who brought you in and took off."

Now, isn't that surprising? 

"Do you want to tell me how you know him?" his father asks, far too mild.

"I don't remember?" Stiles says weakly.

* * *

"I've already told my dad. I told Scott. Now I'm telling you: _I don't remember what happened_." He's home now, at least. Released once the doctors realized there was technically nothing wrong with him. Not physically, nothing they could find.

Derek scowls at him. "You have to remember something."

"I remember leaving the dance, going after Lydia. That's it." Fever dreams and fantasies don't count as memories.

He sees Peter's face every time he closes his eyes. It doesn't scare him as much as it should. Sometimes, like now, he can't wait to go back to sleep. He wants his Alpha, and dreams are the only place to find him.

"Let me see the bite again," Derek says. Orders.

"Stop telling me what to do." But Stiles shows him anyway. 

"It's… In that place, on the wrist like that, it's a mating bite. But you have to consent for it to work," Derek says, giving him an accusatory look.

"I doubt that's what happened," Stiles tells him. "Why is it scarred and not healed?"

"That's what happens to mating marks," Derek says.

Stiles huffs. "Look, maybe I would have consented to being turned. I don't doubt that, if he'd said the right thing, but…"

"My uncle could be very convincing," Derek says. He sounds uncomfortable now. 

"You killed him," Stiles says. He feels… blank, about it. Numb. But underneath there's a simmering rage, a spark of anger that could ignite at any moment. He doesn't allow that to happen.

"If you're his mate, you… there's not much hope for you," Derek says. "That's why I'm hoping you didn't consent. Because otherwise you'll…" He trails off. 

"What?"

"Everyone I've ever heard of losing their mates, they lose themselves, too. Their minds. Their will to live."

"I don't feel like that," Stiles says.

Derek looks at him for a long time, then gives a short nod. "Call me if you need me. I put my number in your phone."

"Why are you trying to help me? Why do you care?" Stiles asks.

"Like it or not, you're part of the Hale pack. I inherited my uncle's pack when he died."

"You're not my Alpha," Stiles says quickly. He doesn't mean to say it. It tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Derek gives him another long look. "We'll talk about it later."

And then he leaves. Stiles is left with more confusion than ever.

* * *

Stiles sleeps to dream. 

"You're doing well," Peter tells him.

"Am I going crazy?" Stiles asks. "Is that why I see you? Is what Derek said true?"

"I won't let you lose your brilliant mind," Peter says. He's standing in front of him now. He looks a little dirty and smells like ash but Stiles doesn't care. "You're my beautiful mate and I won't let you lose yourself. I promise."

"How can I be your mate if you're dead?"

"I didn't mean to leave you," Peter says instead of answering. "Forgive me."

* * *

They're in a parking garage. Peter tells him he's magnificent. Stiles tells him he's crazy.

Peter explains that his anchor is unstable, and he needs something more dependable than vengeance.

Stiles… offers himself, in exchange for Scott and his father's safety. Peter won't let him. Says it's too big a risk. Stiles could die from the bite.

Peter can't lose Stiles. He's only just found him.

But a mating bite, they rarely if ever go bad. Stiles would live and Peter would have his anchor. Stiles is less sure of mating than lycanthropy. But when he looks at Peter, he feels something. A pull. A draw.

* * *

Stiles tracks down the garage from his dreams. It's three in the morning but when he has a good idea he has to follow it up right away.

He stands in the dim light between cars, listening to the echoes. He closes his eyes and tries to catch a scent, but it's been too long. If there was a trace it's long gone now, and while the garage feels familiar, he still doesn't remember anything.

"You don't remember," Peter whispers in his ear. "But we were standing… right over there. I'm sorry about the venue. It should have been nicer for our ceremony."

Stiles keeps his eyes closed. He's afraid Peter won't be there if he opens them. "Are you really here?"

"As much as I can be," Peter says.

"So...that's a no, I guess." Stiles opens his eyes and he's right, there's no Peter.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" 

Stiles turns toward the voice and makes a face at Derek. "None of your business."

Derek's eyes soften. "Did you sleepwalk?"

Stiles shakes his head. Looks down at his bare feet. Shrugs. "Maybe." He'd rather Derek think that than find out he's conversing with Peter's ghost.

"If I had known you were mates I wouldn't have killed him," Derek says.

"I don't believe you," Stiles says. 

"Neither do I," Peter's voice whispers.

"I don't want to see you go through this," Derek says. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. And you're a newly bitten wolf, it's going to be a lot to handle. Maybe too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stiles asks.

"You need a pack. You need some stability," Derek says.

"I have my dad. I have Scott," Stiles says.

"Scott told me you've been refusing to see him," Derek says.

"He helped you kill my mate!" Stiles says, mouth suddenly too full of fangs for comfort. He wants to rip into Derek. Make him hurt.

"Bloodthirsty little thing," Peter says fondly.

"Calm down," Derek says. "I don't want to hurt you, Stiles."

And Stiles realizes he's close to Derek now, and his fangs and claws are ready. "You killed him!"

Derek knocks Stiles to the ground easily, then roars in his face, red eyes blazing.

Stiles cowers back. "Fuck you," he says shakily.

"You consented. You… dammit, Stiles," Derek says, rocking back on his heels and looking suddenly very tired. "I can't help you. I've never heard of a mate surviving who wasn't human."

"What do you think is gonna happen to me?" Stiles asks. 

"You won't lose yourself," Peter whispers in his ear.

Derek doesn't answer directly. "I think we should tell your father. He should know why this is happening to you."

"Nothing is happening to me," Stiles says slowly. 

"You've been acting weird," Derek says.

 _I'm being haunted by my dead mate_ , Stiles wants to say, but he swears he can hear Peter humming. If it's not real, he doesn't want to know.

"Just leave me alone, Derek," Stiles says.

"This is where I found you, you know," Derek says. "Peter told me, before he died. He told me where you were."

"Thoughtful," Stiles whispers to his ghost. Then, to Derek, "You mean before you killed him."

Derek doesn't wince like Stiles wishes he would. Instead, he scowls and says, "Are you remembering now?"

"I dreamed about this place," Stiles tells him. There's no harm in saying that much, is there?

"What else did you dream?" Derek questions.

 

_"You're magnificent, Stiles."_

_Stiles doesn't know what to say to that. There's no way Peter isn't lying. Still, having the Alpha's full attention like this is powerful. Stiles doesn't want him to stop talking. He wants to hear more. He tells himself it's to stall him, or so he can try to learn his plans. But that's not entirely the truth. Stiles is more than a little enthralled at this point._

_"You're crazy," Stiles tells him, mostly to remind himself._

_"You know about anchors, don't you?" Peter asks. "You're clever. I think you've figured it out."_

_Stiles just nods, ignoring the way his face heats at the compliment._

_"My anchor is unstable. I'm unstable. I'm self aware enough to know that," Peter says in a rueful voice. "But if I had something — someone — other than vengeance to keep me level…" He trails off, leaving Stiles to fill in the rest._

_Stiles understands. He just doesn't get why Peter's acting like Stiles is what he needs. He'll go with it, though. "Then take me. Bite me. Make me your beta; just forget Scott."_

_He thinks it's what Peter wants, but Peter shakes his head. "The bite doesn't always take, Stiles. You could die, and that's not a risk I'm willing to take."_

_"Well I don't want to die, so thanks," Stiles says. His head is spinning, though._

_"However," Peter says, "a mating bite very rarely, if ever, goes wrong."_

 

"Stiles?" Derek calls, pulling him from his memories.

He blinks. Looks at Derek. "He just wanted a steady anchor."

"You?" Derek asks.

"Don't sound so surprised, dude. I'm a catch."

Soft laughter in his ear. "You are, sweetheart. My glorious mate."

Stiles feels himself turning pink from Peter's words. He has to go. He turns around and walks toward his Jeep.

"Where are you going?" Derek asks.

"Home. Good night, Derek. I hope you have nightmares."

* * *

Stiles doesn't have nightmares, he has vivid, wonderful dreams of things too surreal to be true. Stiles loves to sleep now, because he sees Peter. Gets to touch him. Talk to him more easily than when he's awake, because Peter seems more present, more real.

He spends his days trying to figure out the werewolf crap. How to focus, how to tune out noise and smells. Sometimes Peter is there, and that helps.

Stiles's anchor is dead but Peter says there's a way he can come back. Stiles has seen this story before so he's wary, but Peter assures him it doesn't mean stealing Stiles's life force. Which is a relief, of course.

He doesn't know when he started trusting Peter absolutely.

There's a ritual, Peter tells him. Stiles can help gather some things, though he has to be careful. Some of the ingredients and objects could be harmful to a werewolf. But Peter shows him what to do, how to handle the wolfsbane without injury. How to set up the mirrors so they'll reflect the moonlight on the night of the Worm Moon.

" _Worm Moon_ sounds so very, very creepy," Stiles says. "Which I guess makes it appropriate for raising the dead."

"The mirror needs to be at a thirty degree angle. Just a little more to the right, Stiles," Peter directs. "March is when the ground begins to soften and the worms are able to wriggle around and make the soil plantable again."

Stiles nods and turns toward the voice. He thinks he can see Peter's shape, a shadow in the ruin of the old house. "I was thinking of worms as in decay, but it's more a time of renewal, then?"

"Exactly," Peter says, a smile in his voice. "It's the end of the long winter."

"You haven't been gone long but it feels like forever," Stiles says, his wrist throbbing in sympathy. He rubs at it and bites his lip. "I want this to be real so badly, but what if it isn't?"

"Do you think your mind would make up the Worm Moon ritual on its own?" Peter asks.

Stiles smiles ruefully. "I have a vivid imagination and this is something I want desperately, so yeah. Could be."

"I wish I could find a way to convince you," Peter says.

Stiles sighs. "Are we done here now?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Thank you. You're doing so well," Peter says, his voice a balm to Stiles's insecurities.

"There's just another week," Stiles reminds himself.

"Another week for what?" Derek asks, appearing suddenly. 

Stiles swears. He didn't hear him come up. He's learned to tune out sounds now but apparently a little too good. He glances around at the room but the mirrors don't look out of place. He doubts Derek could even see where they've been moved. Everything just looks like burned-out junk. 

"Stiles!" Derek says. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Visiting my mate's grave," Stiles says bitterly. "What do you think, asshole?"

"How did-"

"How did I know you buried him under the damn floorboards like you're in an Edgar Allen Poe story? I don't know, I just did. And don't you dare think about keeping me away, either. I have every fucking right to be here."

Derek has the gall to look affronted.

"Don't give me that look," Stiles mutters.

"Why were you talking? What were you saying?"

"Did you not hear me when I said I was visiting his grave? I was talking to him, okay? Telling him about the full moon coming up. I'm worried about my anchor holding and I thought this might help."

"You're lying. Not about the moon but… your anchor," Derek says. Stupid werewolf lie detectors. 

"My anchor is dead," Stiles says. "Who wouldn't be worried?"

Derek looks like he still doesn't believe Stiles. "I have betas now, and they're going to be with me for the full moon. Do you… want to come with us?"

"Who did you bite?" Stiles asks. He's been… unwell. Walking around in a bit of a fog lately, unless Peter was there to talk to. And even then he's not been himself. Derek's betas are probably obvious but Stiles, for the first time in his life, has been oblivious to everything.

"Show up and find out," Derek says.

"I'm not joining your pack," Stiles says. "I already had an Alpha. You don't get to inherit me just because you killed him."

Derek finally looks guilty. As he should. "I'm sorry."

"Are you really?" Stiles asks curiously. 

"I'm sorry for what you're going through," Derek clarifies. 

Stiles growls. "That's a shit apology. It's not even an apology. I'm going home."

"Just…" Derek says, sounding frustrated. "We'll be at the abandoned depot if you change your mind."

* * *

"That's good to know, though. And if he welcomes you, you can knock him out for the ritual," Peter tells Stiles. 

Stiles isn't sure if he's awake or dreaming. He's lying in bed with Peter, his mate's arms wrapped around him securely. 

"Will it hurt him?" Stiles asks. He's just curious. He doesn't really care if Derek's hurt at this point. He just wants his mate back.

Peter kisses his forehead. "He'll wake up with a nasty headache, but that's all. He's my only remaining family. I don't want to harm him."

"I do," Stiles mutters. "He killed you."

Peter laughs fondly and kisses his forehead again.

* * *

The closer to the full moon it is, the foggier Stiles feels. He walks, talks, goes to school, but it's like he's living in a dream. Peter tells him not to worry. Stiles isn't really worried, but he's concerned that maybe he should be. 

There's an Argent as principal. More killings are happening and Stiles's dad is overworked. But Stiles is far removed from all of it, only counting the days until the night of the full moon so he can finally get his mate back.

He comes back to himself a few times and finds himself in the wrong places. 

"What is going on?" he asks himself. Peter answers.

"Your grasp on reality is slipping," he says sadly. "It's only temporary. Just until I return."

"You're dead," Stiles says. His heart feels hollowed out. Losing his grip might mean Peter's not there at all. He should have known this from the beginning. Derek warned him.

"I'm a shade, yes. But our connection is allowing me to be here with you. I'll come back to you soon. I promise," Peter says.

"No," Stiles says, shaking his head. "I lost my mate and now I'm losing my mind. You're gone and I'm… I'm broken." His whispers the last word, his mind spinning. He looks up, up. He's in the woods again. Peter isn't there, it's just his imagination. He's alone except for wind and the trees.

He wonders how far he is from the ravine. He's passed it many times. He can find it again. He can…

" _Stiles_ ," Peter says sharply. "Listen to me. You aren't imagining me darling. And you aren't going to hurt yourself."

"My mate is dead," Stiles says, and he feels…

He feels like he might as well be dead too. The wolf inside him is whining softly. It's in pain. Separated from his mate.

"Stop it," Peter says. "Don't make me take you over. We should do this together."

Peter's words don't make sense.

"Look at me, Stiles."

Stiles keeps staring up into the trees. The moon is almost full, and it's bright tonight. Stiles can see everything very clearly, even without shifting his eyes.

He is thinking very clearly, too. "I don't want to die but… I don't want to go on with this kind of pain, either. I'm not strong enough to hold on."

"I am not letting you do this," Peter says vehemently, and then he moves closer. Stiles can see him out of the corner of his eye. Peter comes close and wraps his arms around Stiles and Stiles wishes with all he has that it's real but he knows now, it's not. Peter's dead. He's buried under the old Hale house and Derek killed him and…

For a moment, the anger overtakes the grief.

"He took you from me," Stiles whispers.

"And we'll have our revenge, darling but think… think. We need Derek for the ritual, remember?"

"The ritual isn't real," Stiles mumbles. Peter's arms around him tighten. "You're gone and I made it up."

"Please hold on just a little longer," Peter pleads. He's holding onto Stiles from behind, speaking fervently into his ear. "Tomorrow night this will all be over. I promise. I'll prove it to you, just give me one more day."

"I miss you so much," Stiles whispers. "We never even had a chance."

"We will, darling. We'll have all the time in the world once I come back to you. Please believe me, Stiles."

"But…" Stiles tries to argue, but it's weak.

"I can do this without your consent but darling I don't want to do that to you. Please just work with me, and then we can put this behind us and move on with our lives together."

Stiles turns in Peter's arms to face him. He looks so real, and his words are just what Stiles wants to hear. "I can't trust my own mind."

Peter leans in and kisses him. It's soft and sweet and takes away a little of the empty feeling inside. "Stiles, just trust _me_."

Stiles closes his eyes and kisses his mate, holding on to him as tightly as he can. He still doesn't know if it's real but he wants to believe. He needs to, or else his life is over. There's no way he can go on with this hole inside him.

* * *

Stiles wakes in the morning feeling… the same. Worse.

It's the full moon and his wolf is in control of most of his thoughts. His wolf is grieving and ready to give up. Stiles gets out of bed, numbly gets dressed, and then drives out to the point that overlooks Beacon Hills.

"I won't let you do this," Peter says from behind him. "Please don't make me stop you. Turn around and go home. Get some more rest. We have so much to do tonight."

Stiles shakes his head. "You're not real."

"Darling, we've just been over this last night. I thought you were going to give me a chance? Just this one night. Tonight. Then we can be together."

Stiles takes a step toward the edge of the ravine. All he knows is that soon it'll be over. Soon. Just a few more steps. "My mate is dead."

Peter swears and grabs him by the arm. Spins him around. Peter's eyes are sharp as he looks Stiles up and down. "I'm sorry about this, but you've given me no choice."

And then Stiles feels a curious push and pull and suddenly he's trapped inside his body with no control over it. Peter wraps around his consciousness. _Just relax, darling. Go to sleep. Let me take care of you._ And in Stiles's present state of mind, that sounds like an excellent idea.

* * *

The next time he's aware, he's sitting at his kitchen table and there's a plate of food in front of him.

"Eat," Peter says.

Stiles blinks at him. "How…?"

"I've been in control of your body for hours. I took the Jeep to the store, bought food, and then came home and fixed lunch. You need to take care of yourself, darling. You haven't been eating nearly enough."

Stiles's heart starts beating more rapidly. The food on his plate isn't anything he knows how to make. There's bow-tie pasta with chicken and spinach, all things he likes, but he doesn't know how to cook it.

Peter has his hand on his shoulder and all Stiles can do is turn his face into it, kiss the back of his hand, his fingers. "You're real?" he asks breathlessly, hope bubbling up inside him.

His wolf still feels depressed but it's not quite as bad as it was. Maybe his wolf was aware of the… possession.

Peter possessed him. It should freak him out but it doesn't because it's _proof_.

Stiles has to crane his head to look at Peter, but there he is. He's there. His shade, his ghost, whatever, but he's _real_.

"Eat your lunch, and then we'll talk about it."

Stiles doesn't want to do anything so mundane as eat, not now that he knows he's not losing his mind out of grief, but Peter's voice says 'no arguments'. 

He grins and takes a bite of his pasta. It's delicious instead of tasting like dust the way food has tasted for the last few weeks. The chicken practically melts in his mouth, it's so tender. He makes a soft sound, enjoying his meal. When he looks up, he sees Peter is watching him with a smile on his face.

"This is great. Thanks for cooking for me," Stiles says once he's finished. He gets up from the table and rinses his plate in the sink before loading it into the dishwasher. He notices the pots and pans Peter must have used are loaded as well.

"I'm surprised you aren't more concerned about me using your body the way I did," Peter says hesitantly.

Stiles smirks. He feels giddy. "That's so dirty… what exactly _did_ you do while I was out?" he teases.

Peter's wariness seems to evaporate. "Darling, anything I do with you will happen when you're fully cognizant."

Stiles smiles and steps closer to him. He reaches out and touches, rests his hand against Peter's chest, and while Peter's not warm, he's solid and real in a way he shouldn't be able to be. "Will you just… just put your arms around me and hold me for a little while?" he asks. 

Peter's gaze softens. He nods and wraps his arms around Stiles just like he needs. He holds on to him and Stiles clings back. There's something off about it, like the way Stiles can't smell Peter. The way he has no body heat. But he's still there, still solid, and for now that will have to do.

"It will be much better after tonight," Peter says, practically reading his mind. 

Stiles closes his eyes and sighs longingly. He has his mate and yet…

Their bond is still a wound, because technically, Peter is dead. 

"After this, you're not allowed to die again. Ever," Stiles rasps out.

"I'll try my best to stay with you forever," Peter says, and it's light, almost a joke, and it makes Stiles want to cry.

But he hasn't cried once since he woke up without his mate. He hasn't let himself go that way. And he's not going to, either. Not until it's safe. Not until Peter's in his arms for real.

* * *

Stiles waits with Peter until the right time, then shows up at the abandoned train depot.

There's a syringe in his pocket, but he's told Peter he doesn't think he'll need it. He doesn't want to use Derek that way unless he has to. Derek's been used enough, hasn't he?

Stiles may hate him for killing his mate, but he's going to give him a chance to make it right.

"Come with me," Stiles tells him when Derek approaches.

Derek shakes his head. "I have three betas on their first full moon to watch out for. I can't just-"

"Stop!" Stiles interrupts. "You owe me. You owe Peter."

Derek looks pained. "Stiles, Peter is gone. I can't do anything about that now. I'm sorry. But…"

"There's something you can do. You can change it, there's… please?" Stiles asks. "Please do this thing for me. I'll die if you don't. I'm going to literally die without my mate but you can save me."

"How?" Derek asks. He looks back over his shoulder and Stiles can hear howls and scraping. 

"They'll be fine," Stiles says. "This won't even take long. I just… I need you to help me."

"Help you _what_?"

Stiles bites his lip. Looks over to where Peter is standing, waiting. Looks back at Derek who looks… concerned.

"You won't believe me," Stiles whispers. "You'll think I've lost my mind. But I haven't. I have no way to prove it to you but I'm not crazy, Derek!"

Derek doesn't look like he believes him. "Why don't you come inside and spend the moon with us? And then after, you can tell me."

Stiles snarls. "No!" He breathes, gets himself back under control. "Please, Derek. I need you."

"That's right. Play on his sympathies. You're his uncle's widow, after all," Peter coaxes.

Stiles ignores Peter and holds his hand out. "Please, Derek. I need your help. Come with me."

Derek puts his hand in Stiles's. It's broad and warm and everything Peter's touch isn't. Stiles can smell Derek's masculine, Alpha scent, and it's everything he's missing from Peter. Stiles swallows hard. "Please just come with me."

"Where do you want me to go?" Derek asks gently.

"To Peter," Stiles says. 

"To… say goodbye? Stiles."

Stiles is shaking. He's not feeling up to this. What if he gets it wrong. The syringe is still in his pocket. Maybe he should use it. But Derek might come willingly, might-

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

"We have to hurry!" Stiles says, and tries to pull Derek along.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Peter growls. "We tried to do this your way. Now if he doesn't come with you…"

"No, Peter, Derek will come with me. He has to."

Derek stills. Cocks his head. "Stiles, are you hearing Peter's voice?" he asks carefully. And Stiles knows he won't come with him.

He looks at Peter and then puts his hand in his pocket. "Look, there's something you have to see," Stiles says, feeling desperate. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm doing this. But…"

"What? Stiles, please, slow down," Derek says, and Stiles knows he's really concerned, he wants to help Stiles, but there's no way he'd believe it if Stiles told him the truth.

So he lashes out as fast as he can and empties the syringe into Derek's arm. Derek's eyes go wide. 

"I'm sorry. It won't hurt you, just put you out for a little while, okay?" Stiles says frantically, but Derek's already sliding to the ground.

His betas howl, but Stiles knows they're chained. They'd have to be.

Stiles picks Derek up and puts him into the back of his Jeep. Then with Peter in his passenger seat, Stiles guns the engine and heads out to the Hale house.

* * *

Everything works out perfectly, just the way Peter promised. The moonlight, the timing, the mirrors, even Derek — everything comes together in a cascade of magic to bring Peter back to life. He climbs out of his grave with a smile on his face, and he smells like death but he's there and alive and Stiles isn't quite ready to cry, not yet, but he's getting damn close.

"Let's get out of here, darling," Peter says to Stiles, his eyes glowing blue and his voice somehow deeper, more real than it was as a ghost. "I need a shower."

They leave Derek at the Hale house. Probably it's mean, but Stiles can't think of anything he'd rather be doing than leaving Peter's grave far behind.

"We'll get a motel room," Stiles murmurs. There's no way he wants to be interrupted by his dad tonight.

He doesn't know what will happen, just knows he needs time with his mate. Time to be alone, to revel in each other's presence. Time to rebuild their bond.

* * *

Peter heads straight to the bathroom when they get their motel room. Stiles follows, not wanting to be too far away. He's afraid of Peter leaving his sight, to be honest. Even the shower curtain is too much between them, so when Peter undresses, Stiles shifts from foot to foot and asks if he can join him.

Peter's eyes are soft on him, seeing through to the heart of him. "Of course," he says quietly, and helps Stiles undress as well.

In the shower, the water is almost too hot to stand. Peter seems to want it just like that. Stiles doesn't mind. It means his mate is warming up, and when Stiles traces his shoulders with trembling fingers, he can _feel_.

Peter scrubs at himself with the small bar of motel soap, and Stiles helps, his hands running over Peter's slippery skin until the water runs clear again and Peter no longer smells like death.

Stiles doesn't know who starts it, but they begin to kiss and it's desperate and sweet and everything Stiles needs at the moment. They breathe in, gasping each other's air, and kiss some more. Peter holds onto Stiles tight, a nearly bruising grip on his hips, and Stiles whispers, "Don't let go. Don't let go of me," between kisses.

"Never again," Peter promises, and together they stumble out of the shower and onto one of the double beds. 

They kiss each other's skin, indulge in touching each other just to do it, just because they can. Stiles can feel the broken, empty place inside him healing with every new sensation, every touch.

Peter is real, Stiles can feel him, under his hands and in his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and breathes shakily.

"Oh, darling," Peter whispers, and holds him close against his chest. And that's when Stiles realizes he's crying. Finally. Now that everything is over and it's safe to let go. Peter holds him through it, as great heaving sobs shake them both.

"I can't…. I can't," Stiles tries to say, but he's crying too hard. _I can't lose you like that. I can't go through it again._

"Shh, I know," Peter says, and rocks him as he cries. He kisses his forehead, his temple, the slope of his nose. 

It takes awhile, but Stiles exhausts himself of tears eventually. Peter cleans his face with a cool washcloth and then wraps his arms around him again. "Get some sleep, sweetheart."

But Stiles… he's had enough of sleep. For weeks he's slept because it was the closest he could be to Peter. Now he's awake and with his mate and he doesn't want to miss a minute of it. He shakes his head. "Not yet."

Peter hums. "I can't say I need any sleep myself."

Stiles knows it's the full moon, his first, and he should be hard to control. But his wolf is so happy, so content right now that there's no pull to do anything different than just lie in Peter's arms for the rest of the night.

"I'm going to have to explain all this to my father," Stiles says after a few more minutes. 

"Don't worry about it right now," Peter suggests. "We have plenty of time to work out our future. Right now let's just be together."

Stiles nods and noses at Peter's neck. He smells delicious. Like home and family and pack. Like forever. He also smells a lot like Stiles, too, and that makes him happy. His mate _should_ smell like him. Their scents should be so entwined there is no difference between them.

"We can always skip town for awhile," Peter offers.

"I wish we could," Stiles murmurs. "But I can't do that to my dad."

"Just a suggestion," Peter says, and kisses the top of his head.

Stiles smiles. He knows Peter would leave with him if Stiles wanted. He also knows he'll stay for him, too. Stiles is Peter's anchor, his mate, and that means as much to Peter as it does to Stiles.

There are so many details to work out, so many plans to make. They have to work out how to deal with Scott, with Derek, with Stiles's dad. There are Argents in town and they have to figure out how best to deal with the threat of hunters in their town. There's the problem with Peter not being an Alpha anymore, and they have to decide if they want to get Peter's power back somehow or leave it alone for the time being.

Stiles almost wishes they _could_ run away.

But right now, in this place and time, none of it matters. All that matters are Peter's strong arms around Stiles once again, and their bond rebuilding strand by strand. The rest will keep until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave a comment on your way out. :)


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